


Love, Again

by oranjeguice



Category: Sex Education (TV)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Post-Canon, complete but i might fuck around and write a sequel, i wrote this on a whim and now i don't know where the plot is going haha, i'm sorry if this is bad it's my first fic, the story sounded better in my head sorry for this absolute mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24880423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oranjeguice/pseuds/oranjeguice
Summary: Maeve and Otis accidentally stumble across each other after 6 years from graduating Moordale. Will they be able to build a relationship again?
Relationships: Otis Milburn/Maeve Wiley
Comments: 79
Kudos: 143





	1. Surprises

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I basically wrote this on a whim after suffering a withdrawal from the heartbreaking season 2 finale. Hope y'all enjoy it!

It hits her immediately. Those pale blue eyes. That along with the distinct voice in the background,

_“Ladies & Gentlemen, one last applause for our Ted Talk speaker today, Otis Milburn.”_

He walks backstage, where she has been patiently waiting for her talk which was next, his words from 6 years ago that she still lives by today. _On time is late._ Those words were still ingrained in her head from the time they had dated, and ever since then she had shown up to every appointment, every date, and every event early.

She refocuses and gazes over at him, and his eyes waver over to her. A flash of recognition passes by them, but he staggers for a second. He opens his mouth but shuts it again, gulping like a goldfish. She smirks, reminded of the times he had nervously done the same gesture when they were in secondary school.

Out of nowhere, she speaks. “Otis Milburn?”

* * *

He would have recognized that voice anywhere. The familiar nose ring, the jagged nails that came from her unhealthy habits when she was stressed. The layered necklaces. He faltered. It couldn’t be. Not after 6 years. Not after leaving each other for uni. He watched her lips move, his name come out of her mouth.

He snapped back into earth, realizing that he was probably awkwardly standing there.

“Maeve Wiley?” he asked, astonished.

“The one and only,” she replies, with her usual smirks.

* * *

"Is this is the part, if I remember, rhetorically, you call me a moron?" Otis asks.

"Only if you'll fall in love with me," Maeve blurts. _What the fuck?_ she chides herself. _Where did that come from?_

 _"_ Only rhetorically, of course," she adds, smirking.

"Well, I think until we don't start an illegal sex clinic, have an unusually long yearning and pinning phase, I might have to wait for that," Otis answers smoothly.

Maeve hides a smile, and asks the obvious, “What are you doing here?” Wow, idiot she thinks. Obviously giving a Ted Talk. Like you’re about to? _What the fuck Wiley, play it cool._

But she couldn’t. Even though they had ended on amicable terms at the end of secondary school, there was still a part of her that became nervous around him. The familiar butterflies arose from her stomach, and she snarled internally, wanting to beat each and every one of them up.

“Oh, me?”

“No, I’m asking the wall dickhead.”

A smile arose on Otis’s face, reminiscing on Maeve’s familiar term of affection.

“Well, I was invited to give a Ted Talk. I recently started a clinic. It’s sort of a sex therapy & therapy clinic for children through video games. I wrote a book about it and it kinda blew up so hence the invite.” Otis added with a set of jazz hands. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet doing a relaxed dance of the feet by moving them up and down. His hands were in his pockets, and Maeve noticed his suit. It was quite different from the “Casual Hamm” outfits he used to wear. Instead, this one was a simple gray and white, which seemed like it was tailored to fit him, fashionable, almost, Maeve thought.

Realizing that she was probably doing the gaping now, she smiled and replied.

“Wow! That’s really cool.”

Maeve knew that she probably should have said something more, such as congratulations or a joke about how his sex therapy skills were coming in handy. However, she couldn’t stop staring at him. Her brain was running a 1000 kilometers per hour and there were at least a million thoughts racing inside. Just the sheer unpredictability of finding him, and on a Ted Talk stage out of all of places. The ways his pale blue eyes were glittering in the minimal lighting backstage. Her brain had also decided this was the perfect time to unlock all the memories from 6th form. The ones with him kissing down her neck were doing an annoying flash in her head. _Their first time._ The way the suit fitted him well. Really well over his shoulders which had broadened. There was a hint of some muscle, which was surprising as well. _Was he working out? Was Otis fucking Milburn, the gangly skinny nobody from Moordale working out?_

She quickly snapped out of it as her brain processed that he had said something to her.

“Whot?” she asked, emphasizing on the “a” as she did when she was feeling particularly emotional.

“I said, what brings you to the magical land of Ted and his Talks?” he asked with a grin. God, that grin. That fucking grin. Cute Otis was back, she decided. Fuck, he asked me something you idiot. _Get it together, Wiley!_

“Oh, you know the usual. Just released a book and you know, they thought it was fine and shit. Apparently, having a PhD at 24 helps as well.” She mentioned casually. Maeve was trying to play it off nonchalantly, but there was nothing nonchalant about being the youngest professor ever at UCL. That and the fact that she had just published a book which happened to reach the top of the New York Times Bestselling List in under a week.

“God, that’s amazing! I always knew that you would be famous,” Otis adds with a wink. He adds, "How are you? I've missed you." Their formalities were forgotten at the shock at seeing each other.

Their conversation is interrupted by a stagehand, who yells “Maeve Wiley on stage in 5”

Maeve looks at the boy in regret, and almost a tinge of anger before she returns her gaze at Otis. Biting her fingernail she says, “Shit, I have to go. See you around?”

“Yeah, I better get going as well. See you around!” Otis glances apologetically at Maeve, who brushes past the heavy, red curtains and onto the stage.

* * *

Eric and Adam meet up with Otis outside of the auditorium. Otis notices Eric jumping up and down, probably plaguing Adam with all his excited thoughts.

“OTIS, MY MAN, MY OATCAKE! YOU DID IT! YOUR FIRST EVER TED TALK! WHAT’S IT LIKE BEING FAMOUS BABY?” Eric yells enthusiastically as he enveloped Otis in a hug, slapping his shoulder at the same time. Otis let out a few struggling gasps, his breathing erratic from the friendly beating Eric was giving them.

“It was rather good, but you know the smacks you are giving me is really hard to breathe right now,” Otis mutters. “Thanks for coming to support me, I hope I wasn’t too boring.”

“I WOULDN’T HAVE MISSED IT FOR THE WORLD!” Eric screams. The people entering the lecture hall were staring very pointedly at him, but London Eric couldn’t give a damn. “At least this time there were no mentions of stars and moons, or you know declarations of unrequited love.” Eric gave him one of his iconic winks, giving him a sideways glance.

Otis smiled at the memory. He did have an unusual track record with speeches. His brain still hadn’t completely processed the fact that he had just met Maeve. His thoughts were buzzing around his head like an annoying bee, and along with that, the adrenaline from giving his first ever “famous” lecture were leading his brain to signal what was exceedingly similar to his symptoms of a panic attack.

“COME ON, WE HAVE TO GO GET LUNCH. YOU DO REMEMBER YOU PROMISED US THAT WE’D GET SOMETHING PROPER TO EAT IF WE DIDN’T FALL ASLEEP. AND ABSOLUTELY NO NANDOS OTIS,” Eric demanded.

“EARTH TO OATCAKE. EARTH TO OATCAKE,” Eric said as he snapped his fingers in front of Otis’s face.

Otis came back to Earth and made a decision on impulse. “You know what? I’ll meet y’all for dinner. I have something to do.”

“OTIS, OTIS! WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO???!? YOU HAVE THE LOOK ON YOUR FACE, YOU HEAR ME? THAT LOOK. DO NOT DO ANYTHING STUPID, MY SKIN IS TOO CLEAR RIGHT NOW FOR IT TO BREAK OUT FROM DEALING WITH YOUR PROBLEMS! OTIS ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING?”

“I’ll see y’all soon!” and with that Otis disappeared running, no, tripping his way back into the lecture hall.

Eric turned to Adam, who had stood there throughout the entire interaction like a stone. Eric gave Adam the exasperated “This man is crazy” look and took his arm.

“Men,” Adam added sympathetically, his only addition to the odd conversation that had taken place.

“Adam, you are a man,”Eric said.

“No, I'm bi.” Adam said, casual as ever.

“Oh my god, I swear the both of you are why I have these grey hairs on my head.”

“You’re bald, Eric.”

“IT'S THE PRINCIPLE ADAM, THE PRINCIPLE. LAWD HAVE MERCY I THINK I’M GOING INSANE.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading through all that! Please tell me if you enjoyed it and if I should continue. I personally suck at characterization and describing things so all feedback is appreciated!


	2. Catching Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any of you confused, I have taken the liberty of assuming that Maeve & Otis date in Moordale after Season 2, and they mutually break up because they head to different universities. Just a clarification. Also, please do bear with me, this is my first ever fanfic so I'm trying to figure out the ins-and-outs. I just realized that nothing was italicized in the last chapter, so sorry. Hopefully, I fixed that this time. Anyways, here's chapter 2!

Otis trips and fumbles his way into the lecture hall, closing the door behind as quietly as possible. However, it did make a great bang with his usual clumsiness. He got a few glares from the people in the back who were slightly annoyed at his interruption. He gives them one of his awkward, apologetic smiles and a small wave.

He takes a seat on the back of the auditorium and looks up to see Maeve presenting. There is a stand with her book on it. The projector is running in the background with some feminist artwork that Maeve was explaining to the audience. Otis notices the packed house, and everyone seemed to be engrossed in whatever analysis was coming out of Maeve's mouth. Her voice has a soft drone to it, and it fills the auditorium like a sweet lullaby. It is a little challenging to see her from the position he was in, but he could catch glimpses of her wandering the stage, her hands making excited gestures. When he had first seen her backstage, what had struck him the most was the way she was dressed. Her usual t-shirt, shorts, and fishnets that he remembers were abandoned. Instead, she wore a white blouse with a high-waisted palazzo, a navy blazer, and gold jewellery along with her usual layered necklaces. It was odd, but a right kind of odd, it suited her. Her brown hair was still shoulder length and split down the middle with her baby hairs tucked behind her ears. She looked beautiful, he thought. _Stop it, Milburn, you're not together anymore. That could be seen as an objectification, you perv._ He quickly snaps out of his thoughts, deciding instead to focus on Maeve's presentation instead. _It was too dangerous to go down the other path._

* * *

Maeve is interrupted from her presentation for a second as she hears a loud bang ring in the auditorium. Her eyes flickered over to the source of the sound, and she noticed the door slamming shut along with a flash of grey. The corner of her mouth perked up just a tiny bit as she recognized the suit and the lanky figure. _He came back, oh my god, that idiot._ A dash of hope tears through her body, but she stomps it down, as she has done so many times lately. Maeve snaps out of her thoughts and continues with her lecture, this time with a smile on her face.

* * *

"Wasn't so bad, was it? Talking and shit?" Otis asks with a grin on his face as he meets her backstage for the second time today.

"Oh, fuck off!" Maeve adds as she walks up, passing the thick red curtains.

He moves towards her and opens his hands up as he was expecting a hug. She hesitates for a second, unsure if she'll be able to let go once he holds her. She steps into it, though, and his freakishly long arms wrap around her and squeeze her. He still smells like the cologne 70-year old retirees wear. _Well, some things never change,_ Maeve thought. The hug lingers, way too long to be of one of just friends.

As they both pull apart, Otis asks, "Do you know why I came back?"

"To learn about the beautiful intricacies of feminist literature and artwork of the 1960s and how Sylvia Plath directly influenced them?"

"That, and also because I had to make sure you didn't pass out, you know? Speaking seems to be rather hard for you. Expressing feelings? Not really your thing," Otis says with a smirk.

Maeve gives Otis a friendly punch in the shoulder to which he bends over dramatically and feigns pain. She hides a smile as speaks,

"Excuse me? Are you sure you're really Otis Milburn? The one I knew was a cute guy, kinda shy; he also happened to be _nice._ "

"There she is. Already taking a dig at me after meeting each other for 5 minutes? That's the Maeve Wiley I know,"

"Know? We haven't seen each other in 6 years, Otis." Maeve says with a raise of an eyebrow.

"Which is exactly why we should go get a cuppa and catch up. For old times sake?"

"Otis, it's noon. I think lunch would be more accurate."

"Lunch then? I know a great café nearby," he pleads. His puppy dog eyes were out, and he was unconsciously biting his lower lip, which was doing everything to Maeve.

"Fine, she said. "But I've only got an hour."

"Alright, Ms. Kardashian. Let's go."

* * *

They're sitting outside, on metal chairs, the gloomy London sky overcast over them. The waiter had just come by, and they had each placed their orders. Neither of them had broken the silence; instead, they were observing each other. It was a shock seeing each other after so long. After leaving Moordale, they had grown apart, Maeve winning the school scholarship and attending Cambridge. In contrast, Otis had moved to London with Eric and Adam.

"You have glasses now," Maeve remarks.

"Observant, aren't you?" Otis jokes. "Not sure if I was blinded by Eric's vibrant pieces of clothing or the rays of sunshine you emitted when we were dating, but yeah, I got these bad boys a few years ago."

"Please, do not refer to anything as bad boys again," Maeve said with a groan. "You finally got out of the hell hole then? You were so petrified to leave."

"Got my ass dragged by Eric and Adam to _The Great Wen_ . Shared a shitty flat with them. Went to Imperial. Got my degree. Became a therapist. Started a clinic. Wrote a book." Otis mentioned with a wistful smile. "I thought you were up north, fancying it up with the smart kids at Cambridge?"

"Hilarious Milburn. Nah, I graduated a few years ago. Got my Ph.D. Moved to London on a whim. Got a job as a professor. Wrote a shitty book that apparently people really like for no reason." she added with a sigh. As if on queue, a passer-by came up to her. Otis had noticed him staring at her for a while from a distance, as if building up his confidence to come up to her.

"Hi, are you Maeve Wiley?" The unknown individual stammered, spitting the words out.

"The one and only," Maeve said with a plastered grin.

"Could you sign my copy of the book?" he asked her shyly.

"Yeah, sure, of course," Maeve replied.

Out of nowhere, with some newfound confidence, the mystery man quipped, "Is that your boyfriend? You could do better, you know? I could write my number down if you wanted."

Otis held back his laughter and looked at Maeve with amusement, a twinkle in his eyes.

"I'm fine; thank you. Here's your book." Maeve replied with a stiff voice.

The stranger wandered off, muttering something about standards that women held these days.

"You've changed," Otis commented. He also noticed how Maeve didn't deny that Otis wasn't her boyfriend. _Interesting,_ he thought.

"Perceptive."

Otis bit down on his laugh, holding back a smile. Instead, he looked up and stated, "The old Maeve would probably have flipped that man off and thrown the book at his head along with your shoe.

"I've grown," Maeve stated plainly. _He's right,_ she thought internally. _How does he fucking read me this well after so many years,_ she pondered. They had both changed, she realized. There was something about Otis. He had grown more confident, less awkward. It was how he carried himself, the way he was walking, and how he didn't hesitate to make jokes and remarks on her performance. But deep down, she could still see the same Otis she had known as a teenager. It was evident that he still wore the ancient cologne, his kind eyes, and his teasing nature.

"Aah, grown." Otis reflected with a hint of sarcasm. _She wasn't wrong,_ Otis thought. In some ways, she was right. She always was. They both were indeed different. Maeve was still feisty; her sarcastic spark was still there. _I think it's impossible for her to lose that,_ Otis pondered with a smirk. But there was a part of her that was unlike her 17-year-old self. Otis couldn't quite place it, but he wasn't yet sure if he liked it.

"You wouldn't understand, you were always as tall as a giraffe. Besides, you've always had the emotional intelligence of a 65-year-old." she scoffs.

"Ah, I see. The double entendre." In a sudden haste to change the subject, Otis asks, "Are you seeing anybody then?"

"You know, the usual," Maeve replied cryptically.

"Actually, I don't know. As you have pointed out multiple times this afternoon, it's been six years, so please do enlighten me." Otis said innocently. In fact, he did know. He knew that it meant that Maeve had set her walls up again, sticking to casual dating, and one-night stands, never really letting anyone in completely to know her. She was distancing herself, playing with hearts. If anyone else was foolish enough to think they understood Maeve Wiley, their relationship ended with heartbreak.

Otis gives her a long look, one that makes Maeve extremely uncomfortable, as she was a statue at those history museums she liked to frequent. Words went unspoken, but they both sat there in silence, trying to figure out how much the other had changed since their relationship. They seemed to be communicating telepathically, trying to read what lies between the friendly teasing and banter. Things they couldn't say out loud. It was a long time since Maeve had felt so vulnerable, yet she wasn't doing anything particularly emotional. She broke the silence with a question of her own, "What about you then? Are you seeing someone?"

"Not at the moment. I was, but that's a long story." Otis states. At that very moment, the waiter returns with their order. He watches as Maeve disassembles her burger, and replaces the insides with the chips that came on the side. A soft smile plays on his face, as he remembers the times she had done so similarly when they had gone to fast food chains as teenagers. He starts picking on his sandwich.

The rest of the afternoon passes as they catch up on what the other Moordale students were up to. Otis learns from Maeve that Aimee had moved to Paris, and from some, God's miracle learned how to bake properly. She had started her own little bakery, to the amusement of Otis, who prayed for her customers. Maeve learned from Otis that Eric had taken up fashion and had left a remarkable scene in the upcoming London scene. On the other hand, Adam had become a veterinarian, starting his little clinic in a nearby borough. Maeve raised an eyebrow at that, and they both laughed over the image.

"You should meet them sometime. They're in London. Maybe you could come over for dinner sometime? I could make my roast chicken." Otis says with a wink.

"Maybe, I'll think about it," Maeve replies with a smirk. At that moment, she looks down at her watch and realizes that she had only had an hour.

"Fuck, I have to go. Book signings, you know how it goes," Maeve exclaims as she stands up hurriedly with an apologetic glance.

"God, your agent's going to go ballistic, you better go. It was nice meeting you, Maeve." Otis says with a smile.

"You too, Otis."

And with that, Maeve walks away, leaving both of them questioning their strange encounter. Though it was filled with amicable banter and chats, there was an underlying tone that Otis knew they both felt. The way their hands had brushed or how they would catch each other stares ever so often. There was something there. It was then that Otis realized he had never gotten around to getting Maeve's number, leaving them no way to contact each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading through all of that. Please let me know what you thought of it! Also, I would recommend all of you to check out the website "impact.crd.co" A lot is happening in the world right now, and the first step to combating it would be educating yourself. Anyways, thank you!


	3. For the Universe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kind words and kudos! They made my day! You guys are amazing! :) (Also, the **emphasized** words are flashbacks, and _italics_ are thoughts) 

Maeve is met with a loud “Hiya babes!” as she looks into her phone’s camera. On it, Aimee is dressed in a storm of red, orange, and yellow with a gingham apron covering it all. Aimee gives her a substantial bubbly smile as she asks, “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine, how are you?” Maeve replies with a smile. There was something about Aimee that, even in Maeve’s worst, could elicit a smile.

Aimee scrunches up her nose and, with a questioning look, asks, “What exactly does fine mean?”

“It means that I’m not particularly hating the world right now, but I wouldn’t mind if a meteor crashed into the atmosphere and killed us all.”

“Oh.” Aimee pondered about it for a second, and confusing herself further, decides to ignore it completely. “I’m good. I just finished my new cupcake line. We made them beans and toast flavored!” 

Maeve throws up internally in her mouth, but nevertheless, she supports her friend’s eccentric ventures. Before she can respond, Aimee adds, “I loved your book by the way, just finished it, I didn’t really understand the experiment part, but it was good!”

Maeve raises her eyebrow and wonders at what point in her book she mentioned experiments. It dawns on her, and she corrects Aimee, “You mean existentialism, Aimes?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Anyways, why are you so happy?” 

“I’m not,” Maeve scoffs. _Did she look happy?_ Maeve regarded the small picture on the top of the screen of her phone, peering at her face. After a thorough examination, she decided that she looked the same.

“You are! Have you seen Otis by chance? I haven’t seen you this glad since the time you guys were together.” Aimee queried. 

Aimee’s emotional intelligence had continued to surprise Maeve time and time again, and she was astonished how exactly her friend had guessed her strange encounter. In another life, Maeve thinks that Aimee could have been a good astrologer. An image of Aimee reading tarot cards and observing crystal balls enters her brain, and she snorts. 

Aimee looks at Maeve quizzically over the camera and decides to join in on the laugh. Before they know it, both of them are laughing hysterically. After catching their breath for a good minute, Aimee questions, “What was that about?” 

“Oh, Aimes, you won’t believe it, I ran into him today!” 

“Are you serious? Was it at your Tom Talk thing you were telling me about?”

“Ted Talk, but yeah, I saw him just as I was going to give my lecture. We had lunch together. It was fascinating, to say the least.” Maeve reflects. 

“It was a pity you guys broke up, you were perfect together! You were never quite as happy as you were when you were with him. Maybe now that you’ve met, you can try again!” Aimee says optimistically. 

“Absolutely not, he could be a serial killer for all I know,” Maeve scorns. Deep down, the sliver of hope that arose in her during her presentation awakens again. She can’t help but think about what a relationship again would be like. The first time around was amazing, and if Maeve was being honest, even after six years, she hadn’t quite had a relationship like the one she and Otis had. Maybe they were meant to be? _Idiot, since when did you become fatalistic and start believing in soulmates?_

Maeve is interrupted from her thoughts by Aimee’s scoff. “Sex kid and a serial killer? That phantom couldn’t even hurt a fly. Besides, what have you got to lose babes?”

 _My heart?_ Maeve answers internally. If they were to date this time around, the only way she can see it ending was absolute and utter heartbreak. It was fine when they were in secondary school, they both knew it would come to a mutual end. But now, as adults, how the hell were they gonna make this work? The only way Maeve could see this play out is in heartbreak, and god knows it hurts bad enough when they broke up once — and that was mutual. Then, why, oh why, did her heart flutter slightly when Otis mentioned he was single?

“Babes, you good there?” Aimee asked, concerned by Maeve’s lack of response. 

“Huh, yeah, I’m fine.” Maeve sighs and responds, “I’ll think about it, okay? Enough about me, what’s going on in the city of love?”

“City of love? It’s called Paris, Maeve, I did tell you?” and with that, Aimee fills the rest of their conversation with bubbly chatter about her life in Paris.

* * *

Otis stepped into his flat, the wooden door slamming shut behind him with a big bang. He sighed as he slumped down into the couch, the strange encounter of the day still whirling inside his brain. There was a lot to a process, and the day had left him with more questions than answers. He is interrupted from his thoughts by a soft buzzing emitting from his phone. He reaches for it and sees Eric’s name flashing on the screen.

“So, where are we going for dinner? You still remember, yeah? And, why did you go all escape artist on Adam and me earlier? AND WHY HAVEN’T YOU BEEN PICKING UP? I WAS SO WORRIED ABOUT YOU. DO YOU KNOW WHAT I WOULD HAVE TO FACE IF SOMETHING HAPPENED TO YOU? WHAT WOULD I TELL JEAN?” Eric bombards Otis with questions from the other end.

“Hello to you too, Eric. I am fine. And yes, dinner is still on. Where would you and Adam like to go?”

Otis hears Eric fumbling around and yelling for Adam through the phone. After a few guffaws, some protests, and silence, Eric tells Otis, “Adam says anything is fine, but I, on the other hand, will not be eating fast-food for the fifth weekend in a row, so then Adam says he was craving some roast chicken, which I WILL NOT be tolerating, so we came to the consensus that we wanted no roast chicken and no fast-food.”

“Got it, no roast chicken and no fast-food,” Otis confirms. In his head, he’s going through all the possible options. He is about to voice them to Eric, but he is abruptly interrupted.

“So, what happened at the theatre, ay? You looked like you’d seen a ghost!”

Otis hesitates for a second, and then speaks, “I saw Maeve.”

For a second, there is a stunned silence from Eric, and Otis can imagine Eric dropping his phone, his mouth open like a wide gaping hole.

A few moments later, he hears an ear-splitting scream, and Otis hears Eric yelling, “YOU MEAN THE MAEVE WILEY??”

“Yes, Maeve Wiley, the resident social pariah of Moordale, my high school ex-girlfriend, sex clinic colleague.”

“I know who Maeve is, Otis. Just how? What? Tell me EVERYTHING.”

“Well, so you know, after I gave my lecture, I was walking backstage, and she was there. Apparently, she was giving the next speech. We talked, and I found out that she apparently wrote a book and they invited her to give a talk about it. She got called on stage, and I left to meet you guys at the front. And then I went back in, I attended her lecture, and we had lunch together.”

“I can’t believe you ditched us for Maeve. You’ve met her after six years for an hour, and you’re already ditching us??? Unacceptable, Otis!! We will have a word. Now, tell me more about this lunch date.” Eric reprimands Otis over the phone. 

“It was not a date,” Otis says pointedly. _Was it? No, of course not. What are you thinking about? It was just friends out for lunch. Are we even friends? Acquaintances?_ His spiral of overthinking is interrupted by Eric. 

“OTIS?”

“Yes, it was NOT a date. Anyways, we talked, and you know, did what normal friends do. We… just got caught up. She’s a professor at UCL now. She moved to London a while back.”

“She did? THAT’S PERFECT!! You guys can continue your love saga, and I, as an author of your beautiful love story, can continue this novel. Do you know how much I suffered when you guys broke up? I had to deal with you being a mopey and whiny bitch, that along with moving to London, was too much.”

“We are NOT going out. It’s been 6 years, we could be completely different people. We’ve changed.” Otis protests. It was more of an internal argument, convincing himself they weren’t bound to work. How exactly were they supposed to after 6 years? _She probably doesn’t even like you._ The familiar insecurities from secondary school were slowly coming back, and Otis was frustrated to find himself extremely clammy.

“Uh, please, you guys were like written in the stars. You guys were made for each other, like the endgame. You literally broke up with your fiancé over this.

“Woah.. what are you talking about? Lauren and I broke up for different reasons that were NOT Maeve. Hell, I didn’t even know she existed until today, and we broke up almost a year ago.”

“Mhhmm, keep telling yourself that. I’ve known you for fifteen years now, Oatcake, and none of your relationships have worked as well as it did with Maeve. It’s all because of the stupid pact you guys made. You’re fooling yourself, brotha.”

Otis sighs; _the pact, the stupid fucking pact._

**It’s their last day in Moordale. Their last day together before they head out, Maeve to Cambridge, Otis to London. They’re sitting in Otis’s room, appreciating some music, when on impulse Maeve tells Otis to get up and go on a walk. They end up wandering around town and at the bridge. _Their bridge._ He’s not sure where the discussion comes from, he thinks maybe it’s from one of the rom-coms they binged with Eric and Adam, or the cheesy YA books they picked up as a joke to read together. Still, suddenly he sticks out his pinky finger and extends it to her and says, “If we’re both not married by 30, meet me on this bridge, and we’ll get married together.” He smiles and laughs it down, but he feels the slightest shift in the atmosphere. Maybe he’s imagining it or overthinking it as he usually does, but Maeve entwines her pinky into his and whispers, “No promises”**

_It was a joke you idiot, she probably even forgot about it by now_ _,_ he thinks. Then, why did he still think about that memory sometimes, and why was it ingrained in his head so profoundly? He returns to his conversation with Eric, “Lauren and I did NOT break up because of Maeve. We were not compatible, and I also did happen to run away and have a panic attack when she proposed.”

“That I will be reminding you for the rest of my life Otis. But you can’t fool yourself, you know Maeve is the one for you.” 

“I don’t even have her phone number Eric”

“You guys will figure it out, you always do.”

* * *

Maeve exhales loudly and opens her mailbox. Since her book had been released, someone had found her address and posted it on the internet, resulting in such an influx of fan-mail that most days, the mailman just left everything on her doorstep. She had considered moving, but there were few places with windows like her flat. And she needed the windows. It wasn’t like her countless one-night-stands had the emotional intelligence to provide her with any comfort. So, the windows were essential, the little solace Maeve had in her little lonely life. Just like she had predicted. Being famous wasn’t something she had considered, but the desolate isolation was something she had always foreseen. _You’re not lonely,_ she argues in her head. _You have James from the university, although he is kinda creepy and does follow you around occasionally. Emma, your agent, and Barbara, the university librarian, and you’ve always had Aimee._ A plethora of packages fall to her feet, and she groans. She stands there for a second, thinking if she can manifest it hard enough, maybe the boxes will disappear. It’s not that she hates the gifts — no, no, she loves the gifts. After years of neglect and being remiss, the attention was welcome. _It’s getting too pleasant,_ she thinks, _you narcissist pig._

She bends down and starts hoarding the parcels into a big hump. From the corner, a bouquet catches her eye. It’s not the flowers that surprise her — she’s had countless bunches of flowers delivered by foolish admirers — it’s how the flowers are arranged. There was a bundle of red roses, a handful of columbines, a cluster of lupines, and in the very center a single sunflower paired with a king protea. The corner of her mouth turns upwards, slightly and involuntarily, and she remembers a fond memory.

 **They’re sitting on the bridge — the bridge of almost kisses, and Nutella stained jumpers. Their legs dangle side-by-side against the matured, dusty pieces of oak that line the bridge. He had tried to wrap his storky legs into a fold. Still, after several unsuccessful drunken attempts and much amusement from Maeve’s behalf, he had conceded to his legs, and instead, inserted them through the narrow slots of the bridge. They swayed with the breeze, and occasionally, he would grab their interlocked hands and swing them up and down as well. This elicited giggles,** **_yes giggles,_ ** **from Maeve. She isn’t exactly sure how they got there, the night had started at his house, and little by little, by doing absolutely nothing, they had ended up on the bridge. It was a spot of comfort for them now; they came here often to look at the stars, after hopping a bottle of tequila from Brown’s. They sat against the wood panels, hand in hand, legs touching, discussing everything and nothing. The future, Maeve’s full-ride scholarship to Cambridge, universities, Otis’s plans for uni, videos of dogs getting stuck in doors (from Otis), and feminist poetry Maeve had found interesting. There was a bouquet of flowers in his hand, and she’d noticed him carrying it the whole evening. Much to her entertainment, she had observed him building up the courage to hand them to her, but each time he had faltered and nervously pushed them away. This earned a few smirks from Maeve, and deciding that the nervous dickhead was never going to build up the pluck to give them to her, she asked:**

**“Are those flowers for me?”**

**Otis smiles and fidgets with the bunch of flowers in his hand. “Yeah.” he says shyly. “Yeah,” he adds a few seconds later, with wavering confidence. He tentatively hands them over to her.**

**“There are so many colors on here it kinda looks like Eric’s outfits.” she jokes. It was true, to the eye, the bouquet looked like mismatched socks paired together, none of the flowers complementing each other. It was quite different from the bouquet he’d given her on the day of her abortion.**

**“Care to explain why it looks like a Picasso painting threw up on my bouquet?” she asks. She turns to look at him, but instead of meeting his eye, she sees him averting her gaze, seemingly finding something exciting in his nail bed. And, is he blushing?**

**After a lengthy silence, she hears him murmur, “Well, each of the flowers means something.”**

**The silence ensues, and he continues after a few seconds,**

**“The red roses symbolize love. Our love and I think it would be a nice touch from the bouquet I gave you the first time. The violet columbines represent wisdom and intelligence. They’re often overlooked for their sister plants, the African violets. I personally think they represent you.”**

**He looks over at Maeve, meeting her brown eyes. He thinks they are watering, as he can see the faint glow and the bright moonlight glittering against them, reflecting little flecks of copper that he could get lost in. There’s a thousand words he could say about them, like how when she’s lost in books, they turn big and full, like a crystal orb. Or in the morning sunlight, they remind him of freshly turned earth in the rain, honey dripping from their sides. There are a thousand words he could say about them, but now he’s interrupted by a soft squeak. Apparently, the squeak in question is something that Maeve is saying.**

**“How do they remind you of me?”**

**“Well, you are a columbine, Maeve. I mean, like I am not degrading you to a flower, and I’m certainly not objectifying you, I would never…”**

**Maeve leans over and shuts him up with a soft kiss. She releases, and whispers, “You were saying something about columbines?”**

**“Right, so yeah, the columbines remind me of you. You’re intelligent and smart, and so incredibly wise. And you’re constantly underestimated and overlooked by everyone, but that doesn’t stop you from growing. There’s so much more to you than what meets the eye, just like the columbine.”**

**His eyes wander over to Maeve, and she thinks that he’s expecting her to say something. Still, his short speech has rendered her speechless, so she gently squeezes his thigh, urging him to continue. Thankfully, his dense head finally realizes the meaning, and he forgers on.**

**“And then we come to the lupines. Lupines are special because they come in an abundance of different colors. They’re multi-faceted, and if I’m being honest, some of them have more characteristics than people at our school.”**

**They both share a chuckle, and Otis goes on. “I guess these mean that I love every side of you. I love blonde Maeve and brunette Maeve, I love scary Maeve and vulnerable Maeve. I love Maeve when she’s being a bitch, which is most of the time, and I love Maeve when she’s failing to cook me omelets for breakfast. I love every side of you, and I’m so glad you trusted me with opening up to all your different quirks.”**

**Maeve smiles and punches Otis in the shoulder, “You were pushing it there, for a second, dickhead.”**

**“Which brings me to the sunflower and the king protea. The king protea is a symbol of courage. It is, in all notions, a symbol of you. Strong, beautiful, brave, each of the things that you encompass each day. Each and every one of the things you’ve taught me. Lastly, the sunflower. The sunflower was a joke of sorts, you know because you’re an absolute fucking ray of sunshine. And, as a whole, these mismatches of flowers portray us. By the books, we were never supposed to work. I was an anxious, lanky teenage sex therapist, and you were a rebellious, intelligent, social outcast. We’re like each and every one of these flowers, a contradiction of personalities, but for some godforsaken reason, we work.”**

**Otis takes in a breath, and for a while, he doesn’t look at Maeve. He is extremely embarrassed to find that his cheeks are turning a bright shade of red, and he prays that either Maeve is looking away or she can’t see his face in the dim moonlight. It is, by far, one of the most personal things he has done for her. Even though they have confessed their love for each other, this, for some reason, feels personal on a different level.**

**A few moments pass, a comfortable silence was encompassing them both. Otis is turning a bit fearful and panicky from the lack of words on Maeve’s part, but he wills himself to not show it. He is half scared that Maeve is going to get up and run, but she surprises him and instead pulls him closer and leans her forehead against his. The sudden intimacy shocks him, but her touch is calming, and he relaxes. They stay in that position until Maeve pulls him in for a kiss. The kiss is a juxtaposition of sorts, it feels like everything and nothing. It’s slow with contentment but feels fast and passionate, a flurry of emotions coursing through both of them. When breathing becomes a necessity, they pull apart, leaning against one another, Otis’s long arms around Maeve’s shoulder. Softly, in the dark, she says, “I love you.”**

6 years later, she wonders if she should have said more. _Did she even say thank you?_ She wonders if he had understood the weight of those three words that meant so much more. If maybe she should have gotten him a bouquet, or written him a book of poetry, or dedicated the entire world to him. If he’d understood, how much the simple bouquet and the words behind them, had meant so much to her. _She was the writer, but he was always the one better with words,_ she reflected. She remembered how she’d clutched on to the bouquet the rest of the way back to her caravan, not even letting a speck of dust touch it. She’d found an old water bottle and cut off the top, as she didn’t own any vases and put the flowers in them. Each morning, and each night, she’d smell them, reminded of the love that the flowers held. And when the flowers wilted and browned, she pressed and dried them against the diary he’d given her, to be kept forever. The diary that she still had.

She smiles and smells the flowers, inhaling the conflicting smells that surp risingly ended in a harmonious note. Involuntarily, she smiles. Attached to the flowers, is a hefty parcel. On the front, she reads her name and address in the familiar loopy, round script. On the top right corner, she sees the well-acquainted name scribbled. _Otis Milburn_ _._ She traces her finger over the indent that is left on the cardboard. Quickly, she picks up the various assortment of packages that have flooded the ground. She slams her mailbox shut, and runs inside to her flat. She dumps the boxes on the doorstep and jumps onto the couch with Otis’s parcel.

She rips it open, and inside two envelopes fall out along with a heavily wrapped gift. She tears open the first envelope and reads the message inside. She reads the first line, and it’s addressed, _For the universe_ _._ A small smile threatens to overtake her face, and she tries to recall how exactly this particular joke had started. It was another inside joke between the two of them, one that had started at the beginning of their relationship. She recalls waking up to breakfast at Otis’s house, or was it dinner? It was a lovely and cute gesture, one that had melted her heart. She remembers being mad at first, making it very clear that she wasn’t a charity case, and that he didn’t need to do these nice things for her. He had responded, stating that it wasn’t for her, but for the universe. And so, since then, the joke had stuck, and each time they did something for each other, they’d decided that they hadn’t done it for each other, but instead for the universe. 

Maeve continues to read through the note:

**_For the universe,_ **

**_Hey Maeve! Just got finished your book and thought I’d write a piece of fan-mail in the honor. Interesting analysis of the inherent differences of existentialism and essentialism, and I was blown away by your connections to the feminist movement. As the “Times” stated, it is undoubtedly one of this year’s “revelations.” It contains healthy doses of “nihilistic humor” that just enlighten the soul. Do you think I’ll be able to copyright them on that? As one of your biggest fans of all time, I have enclosed a small gift as a token of appreciation for gracing me with your presence. Seeing that it’s not your birthday, I hope I won’t receive a punch to the face._ **

**_On a side note, I have included an invitation to dinner with Adam & Eric. I hope you can make it._ **

**_All the best,_**

**_Otis Milburn_ **

**_P.S. Here’s my phone number. I hope you can use it, I’m not really into the whole carrier pigeon mail trope._ **

The smile that Maeve wore earlier has returned but by tenfold. She folds the notes and returns it into the envelope, and moves on to the other envelope. This one is bulky and square-shaped, almost like a wedding invitation. It has a faded look to it, and the envelope is rusty and a dirty shade of yellow. Maeve carefully slits the top open, and she is met with a square piece of cardstock that has been treated to look rustic. In the middle, there is a message. 

**_This is an invitation f’r mine own mistress, maeve wiley, f’r dinn’r at otis milburn’s house with the hon’rable adam groff and eric effiong._ **

Below, Otis had scribbled on a date and time, including his address as well. She flips the card around and is once again met with Otis’s handwriting. Here he has stated, 

**_Ha, seeing that you did not seem to leave me a phone number, I decided that this would be appropriate. Hope to see you there!_ **

Maeve flicks the cardstock over and gently inserts it back into the envelope. She finally moves on to the bulky gift enclosed with the letters. She carefully unwraps the wrapping paper, and when it’s finally unravelled, she holds two bookends in her hands. It’s an exquisite piece of art, painted abstractly with gold accents. To her delight, the figure is shaped into a hand, with the middle finger sticking right up. She smirks, and her fingers gently brush against an engraving.

On the bottom, engraved in the hand, **_Fuck, I wrote a book,_** is detailed into the bookend. 

She places the bookend on the coffee table in front of her and picks up the invitation again. She thinks back to the conversation she had with Aimee earlier in the week. The words, _You’ve got nothing to lose,_ ring in her head. _How the fuck are we going to make this work_ _,_ she asks herself internally. Logically, she knew it was irrational for them to be compatible again. Then, why was every cell in her body, hoping that it would? Why was their hour-long conversation the best conversation she had had in years? Why did she miss him? And what if he didn’t feel the same way. _Fuck, I haven’t even thought about tha_ t, Maeve realizes. _You’re really becoming a narcissist, huh?_

There was only one way to find out. Maeve Wiley was going to dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I did use a Shakespeare translator, and looked up the meanings of flowers online, so I’m incredibly sorry to all the historians and florists for the inaccuracies. I think my favorite part I’ve written so far was the flower flashback scene, and I did struggle with the Maeve/Aimee and Otis/Eric conversation so I’m sorry if that’s bad. As I stated before, I did write this story on a whim, and I’m currently internally panicking because I’m not exactly sure what I’m doing with the plot, so I’m not sure if I will continue this story. Anyways, please let me know what you thought! :)


	4. Let's Fall in Love for the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your lovely reviews on the previous chapter, you guys are the best! Chapter Title is from the song Let's Fall in Love for the Night - FINNEAS

Maeve rings the doorbell, pushing a stray piece of her hair and tucking it behind her ear. Even though she was a 24-year-old grown woman, the nerves were hitting her hard, and she felt a pit at the bottom of her stomach. It was feeling increasingly similar to how she felt when she was 17 and meeting Otis's mum for the first time. _You're not a teenager for god's sake. Get yourself together, Wiley._

Otis answered the door, wearing an adorable apron with little flowers dotted on it. 

"Hey! You're early."

"On time." Maeve said simply.

"Ah, I see you've learned a thing or two from me. Well, wonders never cease." Otis replies with a cheeky grin and a wink.

"Are you getting fashion advice from my old caravan's wallpaper or a 70-year-old grandmother? Because you are rocking that apron," Maeve retorted. It was easier to retaliate than to think about how that wink was doing things to her. Very inappropriate things that she could not be thinking about right now. Especially when a thousand other thoughts were clouding her brain.

"This is a vintage masterpiece which also happens to be sewed by my mum, so I will not be hearing a word about it, Wiley." 

"Well are you going to be letting me in, or are we going to be discussing 50's fashion for the rest of the night?"

"Oh yes, of course, sorry! Adam and Eric aren't here yet, and I still have a few more things to do, but please do come in."

Maeve stepped into the flat, wiping her shoes at the doormat. It smelled like rosemary and thyme, with a hint of lemon. _Oh my god, he did not, that bastard._

Her suspicions came true when Otis speaks,

"I made my famous roast chicken, you know, the one Eric absolutely _loves_."

Maeve let out a laugh and replied, "He's gonna hate it. I can't be breaking up fights with you guys already."

"Oh, he absolutely adores it. His brain just can't process flavour and the fact that I am a good cook." 

"Humble aren't you." Maeve laughs again and takes in her surroundings. The flat was decorated with vivid primary colors with a touch of retro. Maeve could spot record covers on the wall and a few vintage gaming consoles. Otis's record collection was on a shelf by a fireplace, organized meticulously and alphabetically. The fire was giving off a warm glow and a cozy feel to the sitting room. The room was brightly lit, and to her delight, there was a wall covered with windows. She walked over, mesmerized by the stunning view of the suburbs. In the distance, Maeve could see the twinkling lights of the city. 

"Don't fall off," Otis called from the kitchen, watching her glue her face to the window's cool glass.

Maeve simply stuck up her middle finger towards his general direction and continued her study of the environment. The flat was clean and well-kept, but she had expected that of Otis, and his tendencies towards order and control. She wandered over to the kitchen, which was diligently decorated as well. There was an island in the middle with a black granite countertop that contrasted with the white cabinets surrounding it. There were bar-stools set along with it, similar to ones at a diner. 

"Can I help you with anything?" Maeve asked.

"No, I'm good. The chicken's done, and so is the sourdough. I'm just waiting on the vegetables to be grilled and finishing off this salad. Besides, knowing you, you'll probably end up burning the salad anyways."

"Alright Mr. Ramsey. I brought some wine, by the way." Maeve says, holding up the bag that she had completely forgotten about.

"Red Burgundy? Perfect, this is gonna go great with the chicken. Who knew you were such a wine connoisseur, Dr. Wiley." 

"One of my life's many passions," Maeve says sarcastically. In her heads, she adds, _"Along with staring at your eyes"_

Their eyes meet, and Maeve stares into the intoxicating ocean of his eyes, which seemed like they were piercing into her soul. Out of the 7 billion people on the Earth, he was one of the only two people who ever seemed to have read her, which was evident in the way he was gazing at her. Maeve is the first to break the staring contest, nodding her head from side to side, and shakes herself back into reality. 

_"_ And, here's a record for you," she continues, pulling out vinyl from her handbag. It was a tradition of theirs, exchanging music. It had started the first time Maeve had come over for dinner at Otis's house. They had gone upstairs after the meal, and Maeve had fingered through his record collection. 

**"Your lack of punk records is appalling dickhead. I might have to reconsider dating you." she smirks and looks over at Otis, sitting on the edge of his bed, observing her.**

**"Well, I'm sorry if I care about the well-being of my ears." he had retorted.**

**"Like seriously, what is this?" She pulls out a record with a cheesy beach cover. "** ** _Soft wave sounds to fall asleep to"_ ** **she mocks. "And this? Whale ambience for teenagers?"**

**"It helps me fall asleep!" he argues and comes up and snatches the cover from her.**

**"I could help you do that," Maeve grins cheekily and reaches up to kiss Otis.**

**"Are you implying that you're that bad at sex that I'll fall asleep?" Otis responds, his voice low and deep, his breath heavy against Maeve's face.**

**Maeve pushes him away and glares at him, "Watch it, dickhead."**

**"Anyways, we're going to have to do something about this collection."**

So, thus began the tradition of exchanging records and music. Along the way, they exchanged tiny pieces of each other, sharing the little things they hid from the world, but only felt comfortable enough to share with one another. In some ways, the music told more about themselves than they voiced to each other.

"Sløtface? _Sorry for the late reply._ Mhmm, it seems appropriate considering I barely got a reply from you," Otis mentions as he pointedly stared at her. There is a glitter in his eyes and a perk of a smile, which tells Maeve that he is joking, but maybe he is hurt? She doesn't know, he always was better at reading their relationship.

Maeve winces and replies, "Yeah, I'm sorry about that, I've been busy." She doesn't tell him that she had over-thought the message the whole weekend, over-thought about what to bring, what to wear, and what to feel. After countless deleted messages and texts, she'd decided that a simple, _"I'll be there"_ would suffice. She'd reflected, amused at her actions, _Who's the over-thinker now?_

She changes the topic and says, "Well soft jazz is really setting the 50's mood," referring to their conversation at the door, noticing the record player behind with a record spinning and emitting mellow saxophone sounds.

"Wonderful music to boogie down to."

Maeve chuckles, glad that their friendly banter was back. It would be too much to discuss the tension that both of them clearly felt with each other. 

"Please do not ever say boogie down to ever again."

"Dance a jig, bust down on the dance floor, break a leg, how are those for you?" 

Maeve lets out a laugh and is about to retort to his goofiness when she is interrupted by the doorbell.

"I'll get it, it must be Eric and Adam," Otis mentions, wiping his hands on his apron.

Maeve hears the lock turn, and a few seconds later, a loud scream fills the room. 

"OTIS!! Have y'all talked? Can I continue your epic love chronicles? Oh my god, did we interrupt you? Oh no, don't tell me you're in the awkward sexual tension phase. I can't deal with embarrassing and mopey Otis, you know how bad that it is for my mental health. And I've only just helped you with your last break-up. OATCAKE??

"Eric, Maeve is here." Otis says simply.

Maeve sees Eric turn a deep shade of crimson, matching the bright tomato-red outfit he had on. She gives him one of her deadly grins and quickly changes her facial expression to express the scary glares that she used to wear at Moordale.

"Hi Eric." 

"Hhhhi Maeve," Eric stammers, furthering his embarrassment.

Maeve decides to clear the air and steps forward and engulfs Eric in a hug. When she senses him hesitating, she says, "I don't bite, you know." 

She hears Otis add to the conversation, "That's funny because I do remember that you had a certain nickname that went along the lines of 'cock biter'" 

That earns a laugh from everybody in the room, and Maeve simply flips Otis off. A guffaw from the back draws Maeve's attention, and she notices Adam for the first time. 

"Hi Adam," she states with a wave.

"Hey Wiley," Adam adds with a nod. 

"Otis, OTIS. Do I smell chicken?" Eric exclaimed.

And with that, the four sat down, and the night erupted in laughter.

* * *

Otis and Maeve were sitting on the mustard yellow sofa of Otis's flat, matching the retro decor that adorned the walls perfectly. They watched a hopeless chick-flick which Eric had insisted on putting on, even with Maeve's and Otis's protests. He and Adam had just left, stating that they had to let the dogs out at home. Maeve lay lazily on the couch, her stomach full to the brim due to the delectable feast that Otis had prepared. His roast chicken had been her favorite ever since he'd cooked it for her on one of their early dates in school. That, along with the luscious tiramisu that he had prepared, had made her extremely stuffed. Otis sat by her, the space between them closing in. They both found themselves at an awkward crossroads, now that Eric and Adam had left, the tension from before had returned, but this time tenfold. Neither of them paid particular attention to the movie, but instead were stealing glances at each other occasionally. Once, their gazes had met, and they both had looked away at the same time. 

Otis broke the silence, "I better tend to the dishes; if not, I'll never get to them."

"Why don't I help you?" Maeve asked. She didn't particularly want to leave yet. There was something that even in the awkwardness that Otis carried, which made her feel at home. Even in the most uncomfortable silences, there was always a pleasant and cozy feeling that radiated from Otis that made her feel safe. 

"No, it's fine. I see you're enjoying the movie a lot," Otis says mischievously with a wink. 

"Oh fuck off; besides, I think it's impossible for me to burn dishes. Plus, my fingers happen to do some very nice things." Maeve flirted. The room's heat rose by 100 degrees, and Maeve bit on her lip as she avoided looking at Otis. _Idiot, why'd you say that out loud._ She avoids his stare and looks at his hair instead. It was tousled adorably, and she wondered if it was still the velvety soft from secondary school, rough on the edges. How something could be so delicate and silky yet so rumpled and uneven had evaded Maeve time and time again. His eyes had turned into lustful cerulean like the deepest depths of the ocean. Maeve could feel a familiar tingle between her legs, which was getting exceptionally hard to control when she was around Otis these days. She isn't sure if she wants to turn her mind off, to stop feeling, or to succumb to the emotions, but what she does know is that she's tired of this limbo of this weird apprehension that seemed to surround them.

"Oh? And what do those very nice things happen to be?" Otis teased back. His voice had suddenly turned deep, the light and airy tone he had used throughout the night gone. It had been an exciting night for him as well. Although distracted by Eric and Adam for the most part, he could not keep Maeve's eyes. The little touches they shared over the night had sent him a rush, and it was getting increasingly hard for him to control his thoughts. Even though Otis was a more confident version of himself, he found himself reverting to his awkward manners around Maeve. 

"I guess you're gonna have to find out," Maeve responds, her own eyes glittering. In the dimly lit room, they were glimmering, the little flecks of copper reflecting. 

"Alright, come on then."

They both walked into the kitchen, and Otis walked over to the record player on the counter. _Don't Let Me Down_ by the Beatles started blaring from the speakers encompassing them, and Otis grabbed a sponge by the sink. Using the sponge as a microphone, Otis began to sing as the first verse blasted behind them. 

Maeve could not help but erupt in laughter. Otis continued his antics, adding in a few of his abominable dance moves. He was moving his arms and legs inwards and outwards, slowing scooting up by the sink. He grabbed another sponge from the counter and handed it to Maeve. 

"Absolutely not, Otis!" 

"Maeve, if you've been listening, the song is literally screaming 'don't let me down'" 

Otis nudged the sponge towards her and flashed her his most innocent, glossy eyes. _He's gonna kill me_ , Maeve thought. With an audible groan, she took the sponge from him and started the reluctant karaoke session.

* * *

"I really liked the bookend." she mentions, wiping down a plate with a tea towel with a similar pattern to Otis's apron.

"Mhmm, I'm glad you did." Otis nods in her direction. He reflects on how natural this feels, the washing dishes together, so homely and comfortable? _Comfortable, is good, comfortable is fine, don't overthink it,_ he thinks.

"I really liked the flowers too." she adds. She turns her head and looks at him, but he doesn't seem to notice and concentrates on scrubbing a bowl.

He laughs and says, "I thought it would be a nice touch." 

"I really liked the invitation," she continues, and in her head she remarks, " _I still really like you too"_

He doesn't say anything to that, though, and for a second, Maeve is confused by the silence on his part. Then it hits her. She said that aloud. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, Wiley, you absolute git._

He is frozen, his limbs suspended in the air by the words she has just revealed. _She still likes him._ What is he going to do with this information? It's everything he wanted to hear, everything he had hoped for since he had realized that maybe, just maybe in the depths of his heart, he still held feelings for her. Slowly, softly, he whispers, "Me too."

They turned and exchanged looks, soft smiles on their lips, their faces revealing way too much emotion than they both would have liked, the revelation hitting them both. Six years later, and not a thing had changed.

It had all happened extremely fast. One minute Otis was washing the dishes, and Maeve was drying them. In the wake of their impromptu karaoke session, the film was still running in the background mixing in with Paul McCartney's ballads. The house was still warm from the fireplace that was running. Occasionally, their fingers would bump into each other, sending a thousand sparks down her spine. Otis had cut the dance moves, but he was bobbing up and down, terribly out of time with the music. Maeve herself was swaying, a little tipsy from the wine, and spiked tiramisu. The next minute, Maeve had dropped the towel. They both stare at it for a moment and, at the exact same time, reach down to pick it up. Maeve felt Otis's arms brush past her, and she felt a hundred goosebumps lie in the wake of where his fingers were. 

Before she knew it, their lips were on each other, just how she had remembered them— soft and delicate. Otis turned and pushed her into the marble counter, his hands enclosing around her hips. The feeling felt natural, like a puzzle piece in a puzzle, fitting in perfectly as they belonged there. They deepened the kiss, tongues meeting and hands wandering. Otis was kissing down her neck, enlightening each and every part of her body. _There are definitely going to be marks tomorrow,_ Maeve thought. But she couldn't care less because the way Otis was nipping her earlobe made it very difficult to concentrate on anything else. 

When the realization hits her that she's kissing Otis Milburn _again,_ it's when her thoughts come flooding back again, that it hits her. Maeve's flight or fight is activated, and Maeve does what she does best — she runs first, and thinks later. She shakes her hands out of Otis's hair and pushes him back. She stammers and stutters, picks up her handbag from the couch, and runs out the door, leaving a very confused Otis Milburn by the sink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry, this is not the ending I envisioned too, but after rewriting it a lot, I just gave up. I apologize if it wasn’t as enjoyable. Let me know what you think and thank you for reading!
> 
> EDIT: A few of you are concerned about when I will be releasing the next chapter. Do not worry, I will not leave you on a cliffhanger (we have enough of those on the show anyways) but I need a little time to think & plan the next chapter. Please give me a little time lol :)


	5. Colliding Like the Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry for the long delay on this chapter, especially with the cliffhanger on the last one. Hope this one makes up for that!

Maeve leans against her balcony railings, the London skyline’s many lights twinkling in the distance. There is a cigarette in between her fingers, the thin pipe lodged in the middle of her pointer and ring finger. She quit the habit years ago — partially through Otis’s aid in secondary school — but something was reassuring about the smell of nicotine, the tube’s familiar shape. Currently, she is flipping it around her fingers, the cigarette doing a dance as her hands twirled around it in an accustomed action. The motion is helping her relax, it is almost hypnotizing to an extent, like a magician playing with a deck of cards. She concentrates on the movement, the adrenaline that was coursing through her body from running from Otis’s home calming down a bit. She almost forgot her car when she ran out, and she wishes that she had taken a night drive to calm down her nerves, but she decides it’s too late now. 

The fact is that she doesn’t know why she ran. Maybe Otis can help her dissect her abandonment issues and fear of losing control and point them towards reasons as to why she left, but the plain truth at the moment is that Maeve Wiley is unsure of why she fled out of Otis’s house. She’s angry with herself that much she knows. She’s angry because she knows Otis deserves better than her disappearing on him. She’s angry because once again, her stupid body has failed her. She’s angry because she’s ruined all chances of a relationship with Otis. She’s angry because it felt good, and now she’s probably damaged their prospects irreparably. It had felt good. _It had felt so good._ The gentle feel of his fingertips against her skin, which were setting little fires as they had roamed her arm. The small smile she could feel against her face when he had leaned in for the second time. The way he remembered the spot behind her ear that tickled her in all the right places.

She’s interrupted momentarily by a soft buzz emitted from her phone. She glances at it and sighs as she sees Otis’s name glow on the screen. It’s the fourth text she’s received from him, all along the lines of “I’m _sorry, are you okay,”._ She swipes on his name and starts typing out an apology but quickly backtracks. “I’m sorry,” seems too simple, an inadequate phrase. What Otis needs is an explanation, reasoning behind her abrupt exit. But, how could she provide an answer when she didn’t know the reason herself? She exhales again and walks to her bedroom. She’ll have to think of something tomorrow.

* * *

Otis hums incoherently as he scrubs the last of the dishes that are left in the sink. The record he had put on as long since scratched to a finish, but Otis is too distracted to notice. His head is still spinning with Maeve’s sudden exit. He has sent four texts so far, a string of messages relaying his apologies and asking if she’s fine, but with no avail. His phone dangles precariously by the sink, in case a response comes in from her. _Everything was going fine,_ he thought, thinking back at the night. It was going more than fine. They had confessed their mutual interest, they’d kissed, evoking feelings coming to the surface after six years. It still felt just as good as it had six years ago — there was the same mixture of fuzzy nerves, anticipation, and a warm pool formed in the pit of his stomach that made it seem like he was going to melt in her arms right there and then. _Then, where did everything go wrong?_ In classic Otis fashion, he was blaming himself. _You were projecting your feelings on her, you fool, stupid male._ He felt immensely guilty and awful. But he’d genuinely thought that after their confessions, the obvious flirting through the night, the heightened sexual tension in the room, she was fine. _Obviously not, if not, she wouldn’t have ran._ Otis sighs and wipes his hands on a tea towel hanging by the sink. He checks his phone for the umpteenth time, and when, to his dismay, there is no message from Maeve, he goes upstairs, falling into a fitful sleep.

* * *

Maeve sleepily rubs her eyes, the red glare of the alarm clock blaring in the silence of her bedroom. Her face feels unusually cakey and stiff, and the events of the past night come rushing into her memory. Judging from her puffy face, she guessed she slept with her makeup on, most probably passing out on her bed after the adrenaline crash. It’s then when it hits her. _The dinner, the kiss, her dash out of his house._ _Fuck, what time was it?_ Right before crashing into bed last night, she remembers having a vague thought about texting Otis for meeting up the next morning over coffee. She’d decided that talking face-to-face would be more straightforward than trying to explain her disappearance over text. She rolls over to the other side of the bed and reaches for her phone. She winces at the bright glare and notes that thankfully, it’s still early enough that meeting up for a coffee would be acceptable. She quickly types out a text and sends it. A few minutes, later a hiss from her phone alerts her that Otis has accepted, asking her to meet at a park. She trudges out her bed, dreading the conversation that ensued.

* * *

Otis jumps at the barista's sound, calling out his name, hollering at him to collect his order. Maeve had ordered a flat white, and he’d gotten some tea. He’d never particularly liked coffee, and only seemed to gulp it down when Maeve prepared it back in secondary school. He grabs their to-go mugs from the food truck’s counter and walks back to Maeve, standing off to the side, by a bush. He’d chosen the park for two reasons: firstly, it was surprisingly a beautiful day for London, the sun was dancing in the air, and the sky was bright and blue. It seemed ungrateful to waste the day away, a blue moon for London, so thus the park it was. Secondly, the park gave them ample room to move around, which his body would appreciate. Strolling around the park would give a little chance for the nerves that were building up inside of him to quell, or at least it would be a feeble attempt. This reason had failed, and if anything, his anxiety was at an all-time high. What he hadn’t anticipated was the awkward silence that loomed over them. Other than exchanging a few pleasantries when they had met up, their encounter so far was filled with side glances and nervous stares. He hands over Maeve her coffee, and they begin their walk, in-sync with each other. The silence is becoming suffocating, and Otis starts to ramble,

“I’m so sorry about last night, and we can totally forget about it, but I’m really sorry, and if I made you uncomfortable, please let me know and …,” Otis babbles. _Count on him to break the silence in the most awkward manner._ He is stopped when Maeve interrupts him.

“OTIS! You’re fine! It was my fault, I’m sorry. I panicked, okay?” Maeve gulps and looks over at him. For a moment, it looks like he’s going to say something, but instead, he shuts his mouth and tilts his head slightly as if urging her to continue.

“I-, I- don’t know why I left,” she confesses. “I’m not used to feeling so intense or so fiercely. I’m used to casual hook-ups and shitty men. You’re different. When we kissed, it simultaneously felt like I was on top of the world, and like I needed to escape, ignore the emotions as soon as possible. I guess I chose to run,” she exhales. She’s embarrassed at the admission, her cheeks betraying her as usual, turning pink. She’s never been able to hold her tongue around Otis, and here were her feelings, all out in the open, left vulnerably open for him to dissect. She expects him to laugh, to mock her for her apparent abandonment issues, but she’s forgotten how kind, how caring he is. He does none of the above but just stares at her, not wholly uncomfortable, but in a way, Maeve feels like she’s been stripped naked. His eyes match the sky today, and she sees in them the little glints of sympathy and understanding.

He takes a swig of his tea, and responds, “Thank you for telling me that, and just know you never have to explain yourself to me, okay? I’m just glad you’re fine. Just know that I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”

He says the last part so sincerely that Maeve almost wants to laugh. _Oh, if he only knew half of the things that he made me feel._ She grins up at him, and he asks, “So we’re good then, all chummy?”

Maeve wrinkles her nose and laughs, “Yes muppet, we’re all chummy,” she says, swinging her arm enthusiastically, like a cheesy commercial. 

“Good, I must say that I’m glad to hear that it wasn’t another diarrhea attack,” He looks over at her with a wink, and she laughs, swatting his arm and calling him a dickhead. Their confession, the “I like you’s”, hung in the air, heavy and weary, the elephant in the room. But he ignored it. Living without Maeve was hell, and it was a hell that Otis didn’t want to enter again. If friendship was what was destined for them, Otis would happily accept. After her confession, Otis didn’t want to scare her, and in no way wanted to pressure her. For now, her company will have to do.

They pass by a modern abstract sculpture, a common occurrence that was popping around public gardens everywhere in London. It was supposed to be shaped like a seashell, but that was dubious. 

Otis remarks, “Is it just me, or does that seashell look too similar to a vagina?”

The grin and laugh he earns from her brighten his entire day, and he is reminded of a similar occurrence in secondary school when they exchanged explicit graffiti. Somewhere between running a clandestine sex clinic and transferring unsolicited sexual artwork, they had become friends and lovers. Maybe it could work this time, too.

* * *

Park walks and dinners turned into drinks, and drinks turned into dinners. Over the next few months, seeing each other turned into a regular occurrence. Each weekend, without a doubt, the two met up and chatted, sometimes with or without Eric and Adam. Bit by bit, they got to learn about the parts of each other that they had missed over the six years. By the end of these few months, it felt like their friendship had never broken. The past few months were safe. They were secure. There was a lot of open flirting that did not go unnoticed on both sides, but both parties were too nervous to act upon it. 

On one such occasion, the foursome was out for a drink at a trendy little club that had opened up near Otis's apartment. A few drinks had turned into Eric taking over the club’s karaoke station, performing Nicki Manaj’s _Super Bass_ in very out-of-tune and drunk ballads. Otis was watching from the bar, amused, poor Adam was dragged into the duet with Eric, and Maeve was surprisingly dancing on the disco-themed dance floor. Drunk Maeve either resulted in a melancholy, sobbing Maeve, or a giggly, animated, drunken-dancer Maeve. Today, dancer Maeve was on a full show. Otis, himself had participated in a few moves, but had been chided by Maeve for his wobbly movements and had thus retired to watching the trio and praying that he didn’t get hauled into Eric’s singing. 

He is approached by Maeve, who is holding her heels by their straps. She drops in his arms, and drawls, “Take care of them, won’t you Otis,” giving him a wink.

Otis grunts good-naturedly, “Oh, so now I’m your personal security guard, Dr. Wiley?”

Maeve giggles, and responds, “Oh, you didn’t know, that’s why I drag you along everywhere.” 

She laughs and returns to the dancefloor, and Otis watches from a distance. She’s wearing a little black dress, which wraps around her body most perfectly. Which reminds Otis that he really should not be thinking about her body. He focuses his gaze at Eric & Adam and is surprised when he sees Adam actually enjoying the singing, doing a rap battle against Eric in the chorus of the song. 

The music is loud and blaring in the small space, but laughter and joy are spilling out from every corner of the club, drunken memories being made. Clubbing is not something Otis thought he would see the four of them do, but it works, surprisingly. Sharing drinks and stupid shit they did from uni while they roamed the streets of London would, in fact, be one of his favorite memories.

He is currently interrupted by a loud crash from the middle of the dance floor, where a couple of people have seemingly taken a tumble. As he scans the room, he sees that Maeve is one of the people and rushes over to see if she’s okay. He pushes through the intoxicated crowd, and after what seems like an eternity of elbowing sweaty, inebriated 20-year olds, reaches Maeve, who appears to be wincing on the ground. And what is that on her dress?

“Maeve, are you okay?” he asks, concerned. He reaches out his hand, and she grabs it, thankful. He drags her out of the crowd and sits her down at one of the tables at the edge of the dance floor.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she answers as she clutches her ankle and grimaces. Her black dress is ruined on the left side, which is drenched with some sort of liquid.

“What happened?” 

‘Some scumfuck thought it would be a good idea to bring shots in the middle of the floor. His friend spit them out, and I happened to be behind them. Which, his friend must be pathetic because that was literally watered-down vodka, it’s not even that strong.” she wrinkles her nose distastefully and adjusts her legs. The latter motion was a lousy idea because immediately, her ankle protested.

“How did that happen?” he points to her rapidly swelling ankle.

“I fell back whenever the idiot threw up on me, must have landed the wrong way.” she tries to massage the bump but instead lets out a yelp of pain.

“Do you want me to get you something? Perhaps, some ice?” 

“Yeah, could you also see if they have any bathrooms around? I need to change out of this dress.” she murmurs, looking down at the spoilt fabric. 

“Yup, I’ll be right back.”

She watches as Otis approaches the bartender behind the counter, and mutters a few words. He returns, an apologetic glance painted across his face.

“Okay, so good news and bad news. The bad news is that they don’t have any bathrooms. The good news was that the bartender offered to give me a single ice cube free of cost for your ankle,” he adds with a laugh.

“Fuck, which absolute moron designed a fucking club with no bathrooms?”

“Maybe next time when they’re building bars around the city, I’ll be sure to put in a word for you so that you can design a bathroom.” he jokes.

“It’s not funny, Milburn, not funny. Great, so now I have to go the rest of the night with a vodka drenched dress. This night is turning out real peachy,” she shakes her head and sighs, the sticky vodka starts to cling to her body, making her uncomfortable.

Otis is about to retort, but then remembers, his home is just around the corner. Was it worth suggesting the idea? 

“If you would like, my flat’s around the block if you want to get cleaned up and put some ice on your ankle?” he suggests.

“Yeah?” she asks, hopefully.

“Yeah, if you can stand wobbling around with a tall, skinny, pale dude, then sure. Can’t have you been seen in public with me, now can we?” Otis teases her.

“Well, I guess it’s too late for that now, innit?” Maeve retorts, the disco ball reflecting off of her brown eyes, giving them a dangerous tint. 

“So you’re in?” Otis confirms.

“Yeah, I swear if I stay in this dress for any longer, I will never be drinking vodka again. And, I’m not taking that risk.”

“Alright, I’ll let Eric and Adam know we’re leaving.”

Maeve observes as Otis approaches Eric and Adam, who were having the times of their lives, singing some Beyoncé on the top of their voices. He taps Eric on the shoulder, which was a dangerous move, as he was immediately dragged into singing a chorus of _Crazy in Love._ After handing the microphone over to some unfortunate stranger, he says something to Eric. Eric replies, which makes Otis turn a bright pink shade, very visible in the dim lighting. He says a few more words and makes his way back to Maeve.

“You ready?” 

“Ready as I ever will be.”

Otis laughs and gives her a hand which she gratefully takes. She leans into his shoulder, hobbling out of the club. Otis pushes past a group of drunk teenagers, dancing couples, and shot competitions before finally making it to the exit. 

The sticky, warm breeze hits her right in the face as the dangling door shuts behind her. The humidity makes the dress even more intolerable, and she staggers as she tries to reposition herself against Otis’s frame for support. His touch is light and gentle, and her legs appreciate his arm around her shoulders that is steadying her. They teeter like this, crossing a street. His arm on her body is soft and supportive, but his mere fingers are sending shivers down her spine. He notices and jokes, 

“Sorry, I don’t have any jumpers to give to you today.”

“Oh? What happened to your chivalry?” Maeve asks sarcastically.

“It got lost, along with that jumper I gave you.” Otis winks. 

Maeve tries to laugh but instead trips and releases a squeal of pain. “OW!”

“Are you okay? Do you want me to carry you?”

“And shock your poor skinny arms? I would do no such sin,” Maeve says, teasing and giggling. “You must be drunker than I thought, can’t you clearly see my muscles?” he says, flexing his biceps mockingly.

Maeve grins and responds, “Oh, please, I bet Flat Stanley has better biceps than those.”

Otis scoffs, and puts a hand on his heart, faking pain and shock.

“They do look better though than pancake Otis from secondary school,” Maeve compliments.

“Pancake Otis? I’m not sure if I should be offended, but thank you for the new nickname.”

Before they know it, they’re standing in front of Otis’s terraced house, and Otis does indeed carry her up the stairs. She’s surprised at; first, he is strong. She giggles in his arms, the alcohol making them more confident than they would have been sober. He swoops her down low, like an endnote to a ballroom dance, and lifts her again, and they laugh, the melodic sound ringing in the air. He carefully places her against the railings, so she has some support to lean herself against and then unlock the door. Otis had walked, and Maeve had taxied the club, so they didn’t need to worry about their respective cars.

Otis flips the light switches on as he enters his flat and helps Maeve walk straight to the bathroom. He leaves her there and heads to the kitchen to get an ice pack for her ankle. She thanks him as he enters, 

“Thank you, you’re a life-saver.”

“Your knight in shining armour?”

“More like a knight in a t-shirt and jeans?”

“I’ll be sure to let Eric know you called his £200 designer _blouse,_ a t-shirt.”

“Eric designed that?” Maeve asks, incredulously. It was actually a really well-made shirt, with a satiny fabric, with a smooth feel.

“He did, actually. It’s a special edition from his last year at fashion school. I modelled it for his final.”

“You modelled?” Maeve snorts, an image of Otis walking the runway entering her mind. “I’m gonna have to see those pictures.” 

“Over my death bed.”

“Are you going to let me clean-up, or are we discussing men’s fashion for the rest of the night?”

“Right, sorry, yes, if you need me, I’ll be in the sitting room,” Otis answers as he leaves the bathroom, suddenly turning very flustered.

“Wait! Can you give me an extra pair of clothes? I really don’t want to be in this dress any longer,” she frowns and points to the sticky stain that was clinging to her body.

‘Um, yeah, sure. It looks like you’ll be getting a jumper, after all, today, Wiley,” Otis leaves the bathroom with a wink, and fetches an extra pullover and a pair of trackies for Maeve.

He finds himself back in the sitting room, switching the telly on. He’d drunk enough that he was feeling relatively mellow, and there was a weird mixture of nervousness accompanied by that. Maeve Wiley was in his house, again. Over the past month, they hadn’t been back at his place, instead choosing to eat out on their hang-outs. Her presence in his house brought back the same intrusive thoughts that had entered his head when she had run out, but he ignores them, choosing to focus on the genial feeling brought upon by the alcohol.

He glances on the screen, and there’s an old French movie playing, _Diabolique,_ a classic. At this moment, Maeve steps out of the bathroom and joins him on the sofa. She grabs a blanket from the edge of the couch and drapes it over herself, laying her head on Otis’s lap and stretching her legs out on the rest of the sofa. The weight of her head against his thigh is surprising to Otis, and he feels a rush in his head, shocked by her boldness. He rests his hand against her cheek, levelling her head. She glances up and smiles, soft and sweet.

“What have we got here? _Diabolique_?” she asks, smirking as she looks up.

“Mhmm.”

“Fancy a game of Casablanca?” _Casablanca._ It was _their_ game, so to speak. He doesn’t remember how’d they named it, something about Maeve thinking that Casablanca was an old French movie, but it’d stuck. He remembers the first time they’d played it, a little tipsy, watching classic French films lying on Otis’s bed. They’d gone through the extensive old, French movie collection that Jean’s sister had given them, and had put one on. Maeve had accidentally sat on the remote and had muted the film. They couldn’t find the remote after that, so they’d talked over the movie the whole time, doing dubbed, cheesy, and over-the-top French accents. They’d barely go over two scenes before bursting into fits of laughter, and one time Maeve howled so loud that Jean had to come in and check on them. It was a good night, Otis reminisces. Thus, the game had stuck, something they frequently did on their dates in Moordales.

He focuses his attention back to Maeve, who was still lying on his lap, and says, “Only if you bring Pierre back.”

“Mais, monsieur, Pierre haz never left. He is right here, right now in our prezance,” Maeve responds, putting on an elaborate accent, twirling a fake moustache.

At that moment, the scene shifts, and it’s a scenario of two men fighting in such an intense manner that it’s almost comical. Maeve starts,

“Did you hahve a sheet, my dahrleeng, my sweet” Maeve mocks. Otis bursts out laughing. Against Maeve’s lines, the close distance between the men, who were in reality arguing, was extremely funny. 

‘Ahh yes, eet wahs quite good, nice mahvement of ze bowels,'' Otis responds, putting on his own accent. The men were yelling at each other now on the screen, the words that Maeve and Otis were filling in for the dialogue, hilariously contrasting the situation.

“Good, good, whaht ahre we hahveeng fahr breakfahst zen hahney? Maeve continues. The men were throwing plates at each other in the film, the airy tone Maeve was using a stark opposite of the anger on the screen. 

Otis laughs, and Maeve joins with him. He responds, “I wahs sinkeeng ahbout eateeng sahme steecks ahnd stahnes, food fahr ze soul!”

They turn their attention back to the movie, where the men are undergoing their final confrontation. Their faces are comically close to each other, so in a scene where it seems like they should be fighting, they look like they’re leaning in for a kiss.

Maeve dubs, “Keess me, wahn’t you?” At this, Otis and Maeve both shake with laughter, especially since the actors on-screen punch each other. Maeve leans into Otis’s shoulder and snorts, sending them into fits of laughter again. Their faces are almost touching, swaying against each other when they stop giggling, staring at each other intensely. Otis can feel her breath on his face, hot and coming out in puffs. She looks at him from under her eyelashes, leaning in and whispering on his nose, “Kiss me, won’t you Otis?”

He almost jumps back at her question, startled. Of course, he wants to kiss her, he’s wanted to do it again since the first time at his house. But the memory of her running out the door is more prevalent, and as much as he wants to kiss her, he doesn’t want to scare her again. 

“Are you sure? You’re drunk, Maeve, it’s fine.” He hesitates and says. The proximity to her is very tempting, but he wants to make sure she is comfortable more than anything.

“I’m not drunk, just a little tipsy. I promise I won’t run this time,” she murmurs.

“Are you sure? We don’t have to.”

“Yes, I’m sure, Otis.”

“Like 100 percent sure?”

“100000 percent sure.”

“For real?”

“Shut up, and kiss me, will you?”

And there he is, kissing Maeve again. Her lips are sweet and sugary from the cocktails she drowned in the evening, his own a little lemon-y from the tequila he’d drank. He tips her chin towards him so that they are level, and they have more access for the wonderful sensations that ensue after their tongues dance in each other’s mouth. Their breathing has gotten a little rapid now, filled with little sighs, and pants from the plethora of sensations ignited from the kiss. Maeve drags her legs off the sofa and wraps them around Otis’s waist, the sprained ankle long forgotten. They take a break and rest their foreheads against the other’s, a little laugh escaping them both. 

“Is this okay?” Otis asks.

“More than okay, “she responds, kissing him again. She doesn’t feel any of the nervousness or wants to escape; instead, she’s incredibly exhilarated by the emotions that Otis is evoking from her. Six years later, he’s only just kissed her, and she feels like she could be floating in the air soon. She feels his fingers brush across her body, roaming around her torso. His touch is tentative, soft, and cautious, and he looks up to her and seeks her permission again. She nods and slips her own hands under Otis’s t-shirt, _no,_ blouse. They stop and look at each other for a second, incredulous smile plastered on their faces as if asking one another, _Is this really happening?_ But here they are, on Otis’s couch, limbs entwined, hands roaming, giving shy grins to each other like they’re fucking teenagers. She shifts her weight and presses a little on Otis’s thigh. She feels his arousal and looks up at him, smirking, 

“Oh, so little dickhead is saying hello?”

“Little? I don’t remember you calling it little last time, more like something along the lines of jawbreaker?”

Maeve laughs, cheeky and loud, and reaches back to kiss Otis. They continue like this for a few minutes, rediscovering little bits and pieces of the other they’d forgotten. As Maeve starts to play with Otis’s shirt, he asks, 

“Do you want to go upstairs?”

The question means more than the trivial matter of location. It’s an out for Maeve, it’s an out for her if she wants to leave, if she wants to stop, if she wants to go. But she doesn’t. The panic, the nervousness, the flight-or-fight response that had set in last time isn’t there, and Maeve instead feels the good nerves, ones that make her feel like she’s either soaring in the sky or going to simultaneously combust right there, in Otis’s arms. 

She nods and mutters, “Yes,” to which Otis picks her up and leads her up the stairs. She wraps her legs around tighter and laughs a little as he tickles the back of her ear with his lips. He places her gently on the bed and takes a moment to appreciate her. Her hair is tousled against the bed, the brown stands flying everywhere. The dim stream of moonlight entering the room through the windows lights up her face and reflects off her eyes. He can see her smudged lipstick, her perfectly done eyeliner, and he thinks she’s never looked more beautiful.

He grabs a condom from his bedside table drawer and asks, “You’ve been checked for STDs, right?”

“Yes, I’m clean. You?”

“Yeah, I’m good too.”

“Do you still want to do this?”

“Yes.”

“You sure, we can stop if you want to? It’s alright if you want to leave.”

Maeve pulls Otis down and kisses him, answering, “I don’t want to run anymore.”

And just like that, they’re colliding together, exploding like a million little stars.

* * *

Otis is interrupted from his restful sleep by a loud, insistent doorbell ringing. Beside him, he can hear Maeve stirring. It’s a little win for him, as he likes to call them, Maeve is staying over for the first time since she’d slept over from the clubbing scenario. It’d be a month into their relationship if you can even call it that. A more accurate description would be continued, passionate, hook-ups. Currently, he’s awakened from his hazy state by a noisy, deafening, doorbell. Maeve turns and looks at him, 

“Who the hell is ringing your doorbell at 3:30 am? Is it your pimp?” she asks mischievously.

Otis blushes and quickly declines, “No, no, I don’t know, I’ll go check.”

He climbs down the stairs, his head a foggy mess. He opens the door and is met with a very drunk Eric. 

“OTIS, MY MAN, MY OATCAKE. TURN IT UP WE’RE GETTING THIS PARTAYYY STARTED,” Eric yells as he enters his flat.

“ _Fuck!”_ He’s forgotten. It was their tradition or a routine. If Eric was near Otis’s vicinity and was drunk, he usually stopped by.

“Eric, you’re here!” Otis exclaims as Eric makes him comfortable on the couch.

‘Of course, I’m here, where else does it look I’m on? On the moon? Under Adam?” Eric snorts.

“Right, sorry, yeah, I will be back, I have to tell Maeve,” he blurts. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ Just when he thought they were making progress. 

“Maeve? What is Maeve Wiley doing here? Oatcake, you naughty, naughty boy, why didn’t you tell me?” Eric exclaims.

“Right, well, I will be back!” Otis yells as he goes up the stairs.

“Have you brought a bulldozer in the house? What is that noise?” Maeve questions sleepily from the bed as Otis enters the bedroom.

“Um no, um Eric is here.” 

‘Eric? What is he doing here?”

“Um, sometimes if Eric’s near my flat and he’s drunk, he stays over. We make some popcorn and watch noughties movies until we pass out on the couch,” Otis admits sheepishly.

“Oh?” Maeve asks with a raise of an eyebrow. “Is Adam here as well?”

“No, Eric’s gone drinking with his fashion school friends. Adam doesn’t really like them. Calls them stuck-up prats. Eric likes to describe them as ‘strong-willed’.” he adds with a laugh. 

Maeve smirks and settles back into the bed.

“Do you want to join us?” Otis asks.

‘No, I’m good. Gotta get nine hours of sleep or some shit like that,” she says.

“Alright, I’ll be downstairs if you need me!” Otis shouts as he goes down the stairs. He sighs, the situation was saved, _at least for now._

Downstairs, as he’s putting on _America’s Sweetheart,_ Eric bombarded Otis with questions. 

“What is Maeve Wiley doing in your house?” Eric whisper-screams, his words slurred together, jumping up-and-down on the sofa.

“What do you think she’s doing in my house?” Otis asks, raising his eyebrows and smirking at Eric.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME YOU’RE SLEEPING WITH MAEVE WILEY??” Eric yells, now clearly excited.

“Shush, you’ll wake up, Maeve!” Otis whispers as he puts a bag of popcorn into the microwave. Eric’s question rings in his head. _Why hasn’t he told Eric he’s sleeping with Maeve Wiley?_ Otis doesn’t consider himself superstitious, but he’s afraid to speak of his relationship out loud. He feels like he’s holding onto a thrilling, intoxicating secret. That’s an excellent way to describe their relationship because that’s how it feels. The private meet-ups, the quick, fervent hook-ups, the swift words exchanged, the departure after they’re done. Otis has had his fair share of one-night stands, but this is something completely different than that. The sex is too intimate to be described as casual, but he can’t really call it a relationship for they didn’t go on dates, didn’t do all of the things they did when they’d actually dated at Moordale.

“I didn’t tell you about my relationship with Maeve because it’s not a relationship, we’re just…”

Otis is interrupted by Eric, who intervenes and says, “having hot, sweaty, intercourse?” 

“No, casual sex.” Otis winces as he says that, the term inadequate to describe the plethora of feelings that he housed for Maeve. But, he was all for the little wins, and right now, he was just glad that Maeve trusted him enough to be sleeping over at his house. The microwave dings and reminds Otis about the popcorn, and he transfers it into a bowl, joining Eric on the couch.

Ten minutes into _America’s Sweetheart,_ Otis hears soft padding down the stairs. He turns around and is surprised to see Maeve appear, along with her purse, changed back into her regular clothes from the pajamas he’d given her.

“Maeve?” he queries.

“Maeve!!” Eric cuts in.

“Hi Eric.” Maeve gives him a wave and a small smile.

“Hiii Maeve, I’m very drunk right now. Very drunk. And did you know Julia Roberts is smoking hot,” Eric stumbles over his words, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the communal bowl.

“I can see,” Maeve says with a smirk.

Otis gets up and walks over to her, taking her hands in his. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine. I just thought I would leave and give you lads some time to hang.” Maeve looks up at him with a small smile.

“No, it’s totally fine! Don’t go, besides I don’t think you should be driving at four o’clock in the morning.” Otis comments, worriedly. _Why was she leaving? Had he done something wrong?_

“No, it’s okay, I have to wake up early tomorrow, or it looks like this morning. I don’t want to interrupt your guys’ Julia Roberts fawning.” Maeve replies with a wink.

“Maeve, you’re totally fine, you can stay.”

“No, it’s fine, I have to teach a class early tomorrow, and I should probably get my sleep because no amount of coffee can handle grumpy 20-year olds in the morning.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Otis asks, concerned. He certainly doesn’t want to force her to stay. He thought they were making progress, that they were getting to know each other again, but here was Maeve, leaving again.

“I promise I’m not escaping again or running away, okay? I seriously need my bed. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Maeve leans in and gives Otis a soft kiss. Otis pulls her in a hug, and they part several seconds later, Maeve exiting out the door.

“What was that?” Eric asks sleepily, half-dozed, half awake from the couch.

Otis joins him and grabs a kernel of popcorn, chewing on it thoughtfully. “Huh? Nothing, Maeve just left.”

“What’s going on with the two of you?” Eric queries, concerned now.

 _What was going with them?_ Otis asks internally. To be honest, he doesn’t know. It’s why their weird relationship/hook-ups were bothering Otis. It was because he couldn’t categorize it, neatly put it away in a box in his head. His “fling” with Maeve was abstract, a cacophony of things that couldn’t be arranged. Maeve had always been his blind spot in his clear, concise, planned out life. He exhales and responds, 

“We’re just figuring things out.”

“Well, I’m telling you mate, you better figure them out soon, okay? You and Maeve have always been head-over-heels for each other, straight out of some crazed romance film, but you suck at communication. Don’t let that ruin it this time, okay?” With these last words of wisdom, Eric passes out right there on the sofa, snoring loudly with his mouth wide open.

Otis thinks about Eric’s words and decides he is right. They’ve been spinning around circles with each other for a month now. And yes, the casual sex, the strange intimacy, the secrecy was fun, but it wasn’t them. He’d been tentative around her, careful, respectful, ever afraid of her leaving abruptly or stopping this entirely. This was either going to blow up entirely or lead to nothing, and in both scenarios, Otis can’t handle the situation of losing Maeve. He’s only had her back for a few months now, and he knew the other option was unlivable. He thinks back to tonight, the silent victories in his head, the little win he had of Maeve staying over. Even that was ruined now. Eric was right. Otis needed to talk to Maeve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so there’s that. A lot went on this chapter, and I hoped I could relay it so that you guys could understand. Let me know if you see any plot holes, and I’ll try to fix those too. I promise that the next chapter is going to resolve everything happily. I was debating writing a few chapters of them hanging out and being friends, but honestly, we’ve seen enough of the will they/won’t they stuff on the show, so I didn’t want to drag that out. If you think I proceeded too fast in this chapter (in the aspect that they’re hooking up), I’m sorry. Anyways, let me know what you think and thank you for reading!
> 
> EDIT: new chapter soon!! sorry i've been kinda MIA but it'll be up soon!


	6. Doves in the Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, it’s been a while since I updated. Sorry about that, I was in a bad mental state, and I just didn’t feel like writing. Hope you guys like this one ;)

“Do you want to stay over for dinner?” Otis questions, sliding off his bed and slipping on his boxers that were lying on the floor. 

Maeve picks up her underwear off the floor, examining them and flipping it upside down before wearing it. She turns around and asks, “What?”

“Do you want to stay for dinner, you know food?” Otis responds with a smirk. They had just finished another one of their rendezvous sex dates? Otis didn’t even know what to call them anymore.

“Oh, um, I have to go actually. I have work,” Maeve responds, her lips conforming into a tight smile. 

“Maeve,” Otis says, pausing on the word. “It’s Friday night. Tomorrow’s Saturday. You don’t have work.”

“Right, but you’re not a professor, oh wise one. A teacher’s work never stops,” Maeve replies with a sly smile.

“Haha,” Otis adds with a humourless laugh. “Seriously, why don’t you stay over? I can cook dinner, and I don’t know, we could have a good time. You know, like a normal couple.”

Maeve pauses for a second at the word couple and raises her eyebrows. Her eyes meet with Otis’s, but they both look away, the stare too awkward, and the comments too heavy.

After several beats pass by in an unpleasant silence, Maeve answers, “I’ll get a rain check, next time, maybe?”

“Yeah, sure, no problem.” Otis quickly drops the subject, not wanting to press the matter further in what was already a delicate web of their relationship.

Maeve slides on her t-shirt and grabs her purse from the table, exiting the room. Otis follows suit, and they go down the stairs. They cross the kitchen, and Maeve’s about to head out the door when Otis remembers what Eric had told him a few weeks before. The words had been stuck in his head for days, but he had not voiced them to Maeve, in fear of ruining what little acquaintance they had, but now, as Maeve pulls the doorknob, Eric’s words come rushing back to his head.

_“You and Maeve have always been head-over-heels for each other, straight out of some crazed romance film, but you suck at communication. Don’t let that ruin it this time, okay?”_

“Wait!” Otis blurts out, reaching forward and putting his hand in front of the door.

“Whot” Maeve asks, jumping and over pronouncing the “a” as she does.

“Um, wait.” Otis adds with a shrug.

“Okay?”

“Uh, I think we should talk?” Otis mentions nervously.

“We’re talking right now,” Maeve answers with a snigger.

“Right, sorry, um, I mean like talk.”

“Well, spit it out then,” Maeve utters pointedly. 

“Um, well, uh,” Otis stutters. “Where do you see us?”

“Huh?”

“Where do you see us, Maeve? Our relationship?” Otis inquires, this time confidently.

“What do you mean, Otis? Do you not trust me? Because I have no intention of being your bit on the side,” Maeve retorts indignantly, a frown etched on her face.

“NO, No, that’s not what I meant,” Otis answers hastily. “I-, Just what are we doing, Maeve?”

“You’re gonna have to elaborate further than that.” Maeve says, softening a bit, but the frown is still tightly drawn on her face.

“What are we doing? What is going on? We have loads of crazy good sex, we have these secret rendezvous, and at the end of it all, we just leave each other hanging. You never want to stay, I never want to push, we haven’t gone on any dates, and seeing you after six years, I don’t know what to tell you. Hell, this feels more like a teenage relationship than the one we had when we were teenagers.”

“I don’t know if you’ve heard about it, Otis, but it’s called hooking up. It happens. Not everything has to be a god damn relationship.” Maeve, irritated, says in an annoyed tone.

“But, there’s something wrong. We can’t go around tiptoeing around each other in circles; it feels like I’m walking on glass, each time I’m gonna say something we’re either gonna break apart or storm out on each other.”

“Stop thinking that everything’s perfect rainbows and sunshine. It’s not, Otis. Some things are just gonna work like this, and I think it’s better that we keep it this way before it escalates into something we can’t control,” Maeve accused, tears at the corners of her eyes that she was trying very hard to blink away.

“But we can control it! I want to get to know you again, Maeve. I don’t want this weird hooking up thing. I want to go on dates and dinners and coffees. I want to understand you again.” Otis rambles, stopping as he runs out of breath. 

“I don’t think I can do that again.” Maeve whispers as she crosses her arms across her chest.

“Then, what do you want? Because I can’t keep going like this,” Otis responds, defeated.

“I don’t know,” Maeve mutters, exhaling loudly and leaning against the doorframe.

“Well, you can’t keep dragging me along like this. We’re not teenagers anymore, Maeve.” Otis declared, this time a little more kindly.

“What do you want from me, Otis?” Maeve demands, her previous infuriated mood coming back.

“Nothing, I want honesty, Maeve. I want to know where you see us. And what you want from us,” Otis uttered.

“Oh, so I’m not being honest with you right now?” Maeve argued.

“No, but you’re not answering my question, either.” Otis retorted.

“Bloody hell!”

“You can’t even stay for fucking dinner, Maeve!” Otis snaps back, “I’m not asking for much; I just don’t like this weird fucking limbo we’re in. Hell, do you even like me, or is this one of your fun games again?”

“I guess it was just a game.” Maeve answers, turning around and walking out the door.

* * *

Otis steps out of his car, eyeing his watch as he pressed the button on the keys to lock his car. He does a loop around the car, trying to release some of his nervous energy. It was late at night, around 1:30 a.m., the perfect time for stargazing. The sky had put on a show tonight, and he hoped Maeve would like it. He does one more lap around his car before climbing up the steps to the brownstone and ringing the doorbell. He hadn’t talked to Maeve since the argument a few hours back, but after spending a few hours stress-baking and some introspection with himself, there wasn’t a lot he had been enlightened to, but if there was one thing he knew, it was that he could not go back to having Maeve out of his life. So, here he was, a complete idiot, in front of Maeve’s doorstep, hoping he didn’t look like a creep and wondering if he could make things right between them. 

He presses the doorbell a couple more times, but he stands in solitary and silence outside her door. He walks a few more laps and even considers calling Maeve, but relents. He’s just about to head back to the car when he hears the lock turn and Maeve peeking outside of her door.

“Uh, Maeve, you’re awake.” Otis stutters.

Maeve doesn’t say anything and gives him a cold glare instead, leaning against her door frame, arms crossed in front of her.

“Right, so I don’t want to be creepy or anything, and I know it’s 1:30 a.m., but I cannot stop thinking about our fight, and I just wanted to come over to fix things. I want to bring you somewhere if that’s fine; if not, I guess I’ll just go,” Otis rambles. 

A few moments of silence pass between them, a strand of hair falls from Maeve’s messy bun, Otis rocks on the spot, the balls of his feet moving up and down because of his anxiety. Maeve finally breaks the silence.

“Fine.” She shuts the door and heads back inside, leaving Otis standing outside and wondering what she meant by “fine.”

After a few minutes pass, Otis assumes that Maeve meant “fine” as if she wasn’t coming, so he goes down the steps. He stands for a second, examining his car door, when he hears the door slam behind him and Maeve walking out of the door with a small purse. She saunters over to the car, opens the door, and sits down. Otis is so surprised that he just stares, standing in shock. A fair few minutes pass by when Maeve unlocks the door and yells,

“Oi, are you coming or not?”

‘Um, yeah, yes,” Otis mumbles and quickly situates himself in the car, slamming the door shut behind him.

Otis fumbles with the keys, and after finding the right pair, he starts his car with a good whir. He exits off the street and begins driving. Maeve hadn’t said anything, and he didn’t want to break the silence, so instead, he plugs his phone into the aux cord. “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac comes on, and Maeve acquiesces, with a soft click, so Otis lets it be.

The rest of the ride passes by in silence, Otis driving, and Maeve sitting with her mouth shut. She looks out of the window mostly, her face pressed against the glass to avoid looking at him. Otis, on the other hand, Otis stares out the front window, mainly to keep up his safe driving. But, every few seconds, he turns to the side, stealing glances of Maeve.

After 20 minutes or so, they arrive at their destination. Maeve recognizes it as a conservation area outside of town, but she doesn’t know the exact location. Otis doesn’t say anything but parks the car and jumps out. Maeve can hear his boot of the car click shut, and Otis appears on her side of the vehicle with something similar to a picnic basket in his right hand. He opens Maeve’s door for her, and Maeve climbs out. She follows Otis’s lead, still in dead silence.

Otis starts climbing a small hill, and Maeve follows suit, not exactly prepared for the strenuous activity with her sweatpants and slippers. Halfway up their hike, Otis starts panting, and Maeve knows his asthma was acting up. She caught up to him and placed her hand on his shoulder, effectively causing him to stop and jump in surprise at the same time. Maeve hides a smile as Otis turns around with a bewildered look. She pats him gently and questions,

“You good?”

Otis replies with a cough-stuttered growl and then clears his throat and nods his head. Maeve acquiesces but relents and mutters an “Okay” and leaves it.

“So, are you going to tell me where we’re going? The kidnapping scheme is getting a bit too old, don’t you think?” Maeve asks sardonically.

Otis almost releases a sigh of relief at Maeve teasing him. It wasn’t the words itself, but the tone implied that even though Maeve might still be mad, she wasn’t angry enough to give up teasing him. Things were fixable at the moment.

“Oh, um, we’re almost there. I was actually going for the Jurassic Park vibe, you know abandoned parks kidnapped people, but I guess “kidnapping scheme” works too,” Otis responds, a smile playing out as he says the words.

A smile tugs at the corner of Maeve’s mouth, and although it’s not a full-fledged smile, Otis sees it as a small victory and returns it with a similar smirk of his own. Suddenly, the fear kicks in, though, and Otis feels the urge to clarify.

“Um, I just want you to know that you don’t have to be here, okay? I’m not forcing you or anything; I just want to clear things up between us, but if you’re uncomfortable, I can totally drive you home, and yeah, oh my god, yeah, let’s go back, I’m so sorry…” Otis blabbers.

“I’m fine, Otis.” Maeve cuts him off.

“Yeah?” 

Maeve agrees with a nod of her head, “Yeah.”

“Okay, so you’re not gonna charge me with kidnapping?”

Maeve tilts her head to the side, pretending to think about it, “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Alright, let me know when you do?”

“Okay.”

Suddenly, Otis stops, and Maeve realizes that they have reached a landing. She climbs a few more steps and joins Otis by his side. She pauses for a minute and breathes in the fresh, crisp, night air, taking a moment to admire the beauty around her. It was a small clearing on top of the hill, with grassy plains, wide open and thick, a rare sight in the city. There were a few trees in sight, by not too many. Although the area was pretty, what stole the show, was the beautiful view of the night sky. There were no artificial lights in the distance, so the stars were especially visible, bright flames of light in the black sky. She’s mesmerized by the sky for a good few minutes, and when she finally pays attention back to Earth, she sees that Otis has set out a blanket on the grass, which came from the picnic basket. 

Otis, meanwhile, had laid down on the blanket, his body straight, and arms crossed over his chest, looking directly up at the sky. Maeve decides to follow suit and lays down similarly next to him.

As she lays down, she finally remembers the memory tugging at the back of her head. This place seemed so familiar and resonated with her because she and Otis used to do the same stargazing back in Moordale. They’d sneak out of her caravan late at night; frequently, Maeve would have to drag Otis, but she’d found a hill like this behind the caravan park and just had to stargaze with him. She remembers those nights as some of her most fond memories, the laughing, joking, and teasing did the most joy she’d felt in years. Now, she looks over at Otis, and she knows that she can’t live without that again.

“You remembered?” Maeve blurts out. It wasn’t a cohesive question, but she was surprised that he remembered their hill.

“How could I forget?” Otis responds with a humorless laugh.

“How’d you find this?”

“Eric’s fashion school friends brought us here one day. Apparently, it’s the local weed exchange spot for the teenagers. Glad I didn’t have to fight them off today.”

“Fight?” Maeve raises her eyebrow at Otis.

“Shoo them off, whatever.” Otis rolls his eyes.

Maeve laughs, her first laugh of the night, and Otis can feel the tickle of relief go down his back. He relaxes and rolls his head around the blanket, trying to find a comfortable position. A silence encompasses them, not exactly an awkward one, but one in which they both realized that now that the small talk was over, they’d actually have to address the elephant in the room. 

“I was-”

“So should -”

“You can-”

“No, you-”

They both start at the same time, and Maeve can’t help but smile at their blunder. They both stop at the same time, and again the same silence fills the air. Maeve decides she should go this time, so she starts,

“I’m scared of Otis. Not of you, or us, but of what a relationship brings. I know we haven’t seen each other in six years, but I haven’t had the best relationship with men these past few years, and I know you’ve always been different, but I can’t help but be afraid of what’s going to happen to us if we jump in headfirst.”

“We don’t have to jump in headfirst. I’m not asking for a commitment or anything long-term if you don’t want it. I just want to try again. Try for something more than our hook-ups. You’ve always meant so much more to me than what we’re doing. I just don’t want to be another guy you fuck, Maeve; I think we mean more than that.” Otis says softly.

“You mean a lot more too.” Maeve whispers. “I know I haven’t been the best, but I want to try too.”

Otis smiles, “So, what does this mean?”

“Whatever you want it to mean,” Maeve replies with her own smile.

“Are you proposing, Maeve Wiley, that you would like to be my girlfriend?” Otis teases.

Maeve drops her mouth, faking shock. “I would never.”

They both laugh, and Maeve moves over to lean her head on Otis’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry for telling you that you only play games. I was mad about the uncertainty about us, and I know it’s not an excuse, but I’m really sorry. You don’t play games, Maeve. You’re one of the most genuine, and smart, and talented people I know, I really could not bear the thought of losing you,” Otis apologizes.

“No, I’m sorry too. I was playing games to a certain extent. I just-” 

“You don’t have to explain, I understand.” Otis says, taking her hand looping into hers.

They lay there in peaceful silence until it’s interrupted by a growl from Maeve’s stomach, making them both laugh at the interruption of the somber moment.

“Did you not think about bringing food?” Maeve accuses.

“No, I did actually. I was stress-baking before this, so I have some banana bread.”

“Oh, and if I had rejected you, would you not have given me the banana bread?” Maeve teases, raising an eyebrow.

“What, no! I swear I completely forgot!” Otis defends quickly.

“Sure, Milburn, sure,” Maeve answers.

“Here you go, your banana bread, my lady.” Otis presents to Maeve.

“You mean “dick bread,” Maeve retorts. Otis lets out a laugh; it was one of their inside jokes from Moordale.

“Did you bring a knife for this, or am I supposed to eat this like a savage.”

“You are a savage, so I don’t see the problem,” Otis replies with a wink.

Maeve swats Otis’s arm, “Watch it, Milburn!”

They lay there like that, eating banana bread and watching the stars. It’s far from perfect in the real world, but for right now, it was enough for both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I suck at writing angst? Yes, and what about it, but my apologies for the first part of this chapter, I really cannot write arguments. Anyways, this is the end of the story at the moment, if I continue, it’ll be one-shots of their relationship after this. I’m not exactly sure when I’ll update next, but if you’ve been reading this from the start, thank you, much love, and let me know what you thought in the comments! I love hearing your guys’ thoughts!! :))) <3 <3 
> 
> Also, if you would like me to continue, would you prefer it in a new story with one-shots of these two or would you be fine if I tagged it along with this story?


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